Sorting it all out

So it turns out that “reconstructed” boobs aren’t quite what I had in mind. They’re not like Baywatch implants. They’re pretty much just as good as the plastic surgeon can get them with whatever he can salvage of my own breast own skin and pieces of cadaver or animal skin. A patchwork-quilt boob, you could say.

And do I want saline or silicone? Silicone feels more real, but saline, I think, is safer. But they’ve made advances with the silicone, so they might be OK. But I don’t really know because I don’t have time to research this thoroughly. And no matter which way I go, they won’t last forever. Eventually I’ll have to replace them, like a beat up car.

I’ll just come out and say it. This blog is more for me than anyone who might be reading it. If you’re an acquaintance or coworker and you’re not real comfortable reading about my boobs or my figure, feel free to skip over stuff or not read it at all. If you’re family and you read this and you want to give advice, maybe just hold off for a little bit. I’m posting these and making it public for the girl who’s diagnosed after me and does a Google search for “breast cancer at 33.” Like I did. I found some other 30-something woman’s blog, and I found it comforting.

I have to get all the scary stuff out of my head. I’m scared of the number 9, which is the “total Nottingham score” of one of the tumors the pathologist found. It basically means the cancer cells are dividing like crazy and that there are even some dead cancer cells, which isn’t good b/c cancer cells evidently live longer than normal cells. So if a pathologist finds dead cancer cells, it means the cancer has been there a while.

I’m scared of the word “extensive,” which is how the girl from my breast surgeon’s office described the results of the breast MRI I had on Thursday. Thankfully, there’s nothing in my left breast, but “extensive” cancer in my right breast means that the cancer isn’t contained in a nice, neat little tumor. It’s all throughout the tissue.

I’m scared of the “something” on my liver that the ultrasound tech found. I know I shouldn’t have asked a tech about what he was measuring during my abdominal ultrasound, but when he started clicking around a bunch and zooming in on a particular area, and then using some instrument that made the computer screen turn red and blue, I knew he was on to something.

When I asked the girl who called me from the breast surgeon’s office about this, she said that the ultrasound results weren’t ready, but that it could have just been a cyst on my liver. “You’d be surprised how many people have cysts on their liver,” she said. Yeah, I was surprised when I Googled “liver cyst” to learn that only 5% of the population has liver cysts. Stupid Google. Stupid me for Googling everything.

When I look at Miles sprawled out in his crib, I’m worried I won’t see him grow up, and I’m worried about who will get Allie ready for her first day of 1^st grade.

I’m probably fine. They’ll probably just cut my boobs off, biopsy the right breast, and tell me they got it all and that the cancer hasn’t spread and that I won’t even have to do chemo. That’s really what I’m praying for. But these are the fears that just sort of hang out in the back of my head all day.

I try to compartmentalize the cancer thoughts so that they’re not always there with me, so that I can focus on work when I’m there and my babies when I’m with them, and on Mario during the hour or so a day that we have totally to ourselves. But it’s hard. I’m hoping that getting them out on paper will help me separate the scary thoughts from whatever I need to be focusing on. I’m sorry if I’m at work and I’m not doing a good job of compartmentalizing at the moment.

Now, here’s what I’m grateful for. I’m grateful that I found this stupid thing. What if I never did that breast exam? Who knows how long this cancer would have growing before I found it?

I’m grateful for my family, who is staying strong and keeping me focused. My mom talked to me last night and told me that we are going to get through this. We are going to take one step at a time and get through one thing at a time, and we will get through it. I’m sure she’s told me that a dozen or so times before when I’ve gone through something difficult, but this time, it really stuck.

I’m grateful to Tony from Einstein’s. There is an Einstein’s in Lewisville that Mario and I have been going to since we moved to Flower Mound in 2006. And since we started going, we seem to always run into a group of men, probably ranging in age from their 40s to 60s, who are there when we are. One of the men, Tony Gonzalez, started talking to us one day and told us the group of men he’s with are all from the same Catholic church. I think he said they go to mass in the morning together and then go to Einstein’s to solve the world’s problems.

We’ve been friends with Tony since I was pregnant with Miles. He always asks us about our kids and how we’re doing. It is a treat to see him there. I told him last Thursday about my situation, and he said that this weekend, his group of Einstein’s dudes were going on a church retreat and that they would pray specifically for me.

I can’t believe that some random group of men would pray for me. I think what I like so much about these guys is that they remind me of my Granddad. My dad’s dad owned a pharmacy in Seymour, Texas, and he knew every single person in that town. When I was little, probably around 5 or so, he’d take me with him to the pharmacy and sit around some tables and chairs and visit with other Granddad-looking men. My Einstein’s men remind me of my Granddad. I bet Granddad’s coffee buddies would have prayed for someone like me.

I’m grateful to my friends who’ve said they’d pray for me and/or send good ju-ju my way.

I feel like maybe if I don’t have time to do all the research in the world on plastic surgeons and breast surgeons and hospitals and silicone vs. saline, that with all the prayer going out on my behalf, maybe God will put me in the right hands. I would research all this stuff, it’s just really hard when you don’t have much time to decide because you just want your cancer-boob cut off as fast as humanly possible, and you have a full-time job, and two kids and a husband. Not that I am complaining. Believe me, I would much rather spend time with my family and my job than I would researching cancer.

I feel like I don’t deserve all the prayer, because I’m not the world’s most devoted prayer person myself. I always thank God for what he’s given my family, but I don’t always remember to pray for others outside my family. Somehow, I’ll make it up to you.

And I promise not to post such downer posts all the time.